The Final Stand of Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty
by shyvioletgirl
Summary: What happens when Moriarty has discovered the perfect weapon to beat Sherlock Holmes...Molly Hooper. Set after Sherlock's return from the dead.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you to everyone who enjoyed my last story. I hope you'll also enjoy this multi-chapter story. Looking forward to your reviews.

**The Final Stand of Sherlock Homes and James Moriarty**

Chapter One

"Molly sweetheart, whose shirt is this? It's not mine, and I've never seen it here before," Tom yelled from the bedroom.

"Oh, I think Sherlock might have left one behind when he was living here after we faked his death. I must have moved it when I was cleaning yesterday," I answered. The crisp white shirt in question popped to the forefront of my mind. I decided that I should keep to myself that I still wear the shirt to bed some nights. Probably best not to mention that I was wearing it the shirt when Sherlock left in the early morning hours two years ago as well.

I really need to stop wearing it. I should probably give the darn thing back to Sherlock now that he's "alive" again. I have moved on, and need to stop giving into these childish fantasies about him. I am in love with and engaged to Tom now. For once in my life I am happy. I shouldn't need the shirt to feel the comfort of knowing that Sherlock is still alive any longer. I am a grown woman, I shouldn't need a security blanket. However, if all of that is true why does the thought of giving the shirt back cause my heart to ache?

"How long did he stay here that he felt comfortable using your closet? Isn't that a bit intimate?" he asked as he walked back into the front room.

"He was here for about two weeks, but he put his things in my closet the moment he moved it. You'll understand once you meet him." Even as I said the words I realized I'm not sure that I want them to meet.

When it comes to Sherlock his words are capable of cutting to the bone. He doesn't understand boundaries, and being my fiancé may make Tom a bigger target for Sherlock's deductions. He loves knowing everything about everybody with just a glance and knowing that he's the superior being in the room. I don't want to know what he'll say about Tom. He was being nice when I saw him a couple days ago, but I know it can't last.

"I've got to head out for my dinner meeting. Are you sure you don't want to join me?"

"No, I've got a few things to finish up at work. Plus there is some paperwork that needs to be filled out now that Sherlock is 'alive' again. However, Mycroft said that he's clear it all up," I replied.

"What would need to be cleared up, and who is Mycroft?"

"Tom, my name is on the death certificate of a man who is still very much alive. I've helped to commit fraud. Mycroft is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother. He works pretty high up in the government. Sherlock likes to say that Mycroft _is_ the government," I couldn't help but chuckle at that last bit. I can even hear Sherlock saying that words in that voice he uses anytime he's talking about his brother, bored and dry.

"Was helping him really worth all this trouble you might be in now?" he questioned as he grabbed his coat.

"I understood what was at stake when I agreed to help him. I'd do it all over again today if he asked me to."

"He must be a really good friend then," he sounded angry about my friendship– if you could call it that – with Sherlock. That I would risk so much for him. "Well, I'm going to head out then. I'll see you later. Love you."

"I love you too," I responded as he leans down to kiss me before leaving.

I don't really having any paperwork pertaining to Sherlock to fill out down at Barts, Mycroft had taken care of everything already. I really couldn't sit through another one of Tom's business dinners though. I'm not good with conversation under the best of circumstances, and the fact that I spend my days cutting up dead bodies doesn't help matters. No one wants to hear about my job while they're trying to eat; no one ever really wants to hear about my job. The only person I know that has no qualms with conversations about corpses is Sherlock.

And of course Sherlock Holmes is the only subject that people really want to discuss with me once they've discovered my association with him. Before his resurrection the questions were always about why I believed in him. Now that he's alive again all they want to know is how we faked his death. No one seems to care about the things that really matter such as the fact that Richard Brook really was Moriarty and that Sherlock was cleared of any wrongdoing, or that Sherlock was protecting his friends when he faked his death. No all they care about are my motives and judgment. It seems like even Tom is questioning my decisions now.

Tom didn't even know me two years ago, so why is my association with Sherlock, my motives for helping him, all Tom seems to care about these past few days? I work with Sherlock and can't have Tom getting miffed every time I mention his name or they happen to see each other. Why is it that Sherlock can't help but to make my life difficult?

I decided that going to Bart's wasn't such a bad idea. I've always felt like myself at the morgue; my home away from home. The cold and sterile environment has always comforted me, which is strange since I love warmth and color. Being there would help me clear my mind and keep my sanity at bay. I have so many memories connected to Sherlock that are connected to working with him there, and while many of those memories are not happy ones, I always felt needed and content when working with him.

Maybe there's something wrong with me. I love Tom and I am happy, but with Sherlock back he's constantly in the forefront of my mind. Everywhere I turn there is some sort of memory associated with him. I'm sure they've always been there, but now they're staring at me in vivid color. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about it all. I'll go to Bart's and everything will be better; I'll get it all figured out.

I had just sat down at the microscope to check on a skin sample when Sherlock swept through the doors like he owned the place. It wasn't really surprising, some things would never change. Even as confused as I am right now it's nice to have him waltzing into my domain again. I missed this while he was gone, and was always looking up hopeful whenever my door opened.

"Oh, Molly, you're already here. I thought we were going to have to wait for you." My mobile starts ringing as he finished.

"Hello? Yes, Greg. I'm actually already here. Yes, Sherlock is here too, he just walked in. No, I won't let him push me around while we're waiting for you. Okay, we'll see you soon."

"Does he really think I'm going to push you around?" Sherlock asked looking puzzled.

"You have to admit you've done it in the past," I said getting up from my spot at the microscope. I can picture every moment that he ever demanded something of me, treated me like I wasn't really there, flirted with me to get whatever it was he wanted or needed at the time, and every time he pointed out everything wrong with whoever I was dating at the time.

"That was before, things have changed."

"Have they really changed that much?" I asked, unsure what could have happened in the past two years that would have changed him so drastically. I know that when I helped him fake his death I moved up in his little world, but even John who is his best friend has to deal with Sherlock's abysmal behavior. What makes me any different?

"Molly," was all he said in his impatient voice, the one that tells you that you're supposed to understand everything that he's saying. I don't know why, but the sound of his voice suddenly made me nervous. Just what I needed, to constantly be jumpy around him again.

"Tom found your shirt in my closet this evening," I don't know why I said it. I just needed something to say and it was the first thing to pop out. I really was going to end up a jumpy nervous mess around him again…uhh.

"That must have been awkward," he said with a hint of a smile. I think he was secretly pleased that I still have the shirt, that I kept that small piece of him around all these years. If I'm really honest with myself I guess that means I haven't really moved on as well as I thought I had.

"Well, yes, it was a bit. I told him you must have left it by accident when you were staying with me. He didn't make a big deal out of it, but seemed to think it was too intimate for a male friend to be so comfortable to put their things in my closet.

"Molly, I think we were a little more than friends for a little bit, weren't we?" I nodded in answer, knowing I was blushing. "Do I need to come by and fetch it later?"

"I don't know. I'm very unsure about what I should be doing."

"I know that I like to make people uncomfortable just because I can, but I want to be happy. You deserve all the happiness in the world Molly, and I don't want to get in the way."

"It's just…" I can't seem to finish my thought process, I'm not even sure what I meant to say in the first place.

"You know, you look better in the shirt than I ever did," he said with a sly smile that causes a tightening in my chest. I've only ever felt this way with him, and that scares me.

What was I doing letting him get to me again? Thinking about that night he left two years ago. Him kissing me goodbye, me wearing the shirt. Earlier that day he'd told me he didn't know when or if he'd ever be back in London. I figured that I would never be able to move on, Sherlock was everything that I measured every man I met against. Then one day Tom walked into my life, and everything changed.

"Why do you do that?" I stammered out the question. "You tell me you want me to be happy, but then you just have to go and say something like that to throw me off balance!" I said all this with my voice getting a little bit louder with each word as my anger grew.

"I'm sorry Molly. I just can't…I wasn't thinking."

Thankfully before I can respond DI Lestrade and Sargent Donovan came in. I was having trouble trying to process everything Sherlock was trying to say. It was all so confusing. I decided it would be better to focus on the other problems at hand instead.

"The body still hasn't arrived Greg," I said finally looking away from Sherlock.

"I don't know what could be keeping them. They left the scene with the body shortly after Sherlock, and well before me and Sally.

"I'll just check out back then; see if they're having trouble with something."

"I think I'll go with you. That is if you don't mind me accompanying you?" Sherlock asked, the confidence usually found in his voice was gone. I nodded in response.

As we started walking back to the ambulance dock I was sure I heard Sally asking Greg, "What the hell is going on with Dr. Hooper and the Freak?" I guess that means Sherlock was his normal self at the crime scene earlier. Which means things really haven't changed and he'll be back to bossing me around in no time. I'm not sure if this makes me happy or not.

"I am sorry about what I said before. I'm trying, but sometimes I can't stop myself," Sherlock said.

"I know Sherlock, it's just things have been confusing for me since you came back. Things are changing and I don't know what that means," I said and decided a change of subject was in order. "So I guess Donovan is still rubbing you the wrong way. After your death she would come in here going on and on about how she was right about you and that I was a fool for believing in you. I wanted to slap her."

"I don't think anything will ever change between the two of us. The look on her face when I walked back into the Yard was nice though." His words made me smile. I've always hated the way she treated him.

"I'm happy that you're home, even if it has made my life a little crazy," I stopped walking, looking up at him as I said this. I needed him to know that no matter what I was feeling right now I was glad he's here now.

"It's good to be back. I missed London, missed all of this."

We rounded the corner to the ambulance dock and I screamed at the scene before us. The two paramedics had been shot and the body they were transferring was missing. After I got over my initial shock I run to the one paramedic I have the possibility of saving knowing there was nothing I could do for the other.

"Sherlock, go get Lestrade and have him get someone down here from A&E down here to help me," I yelled. Instead of running back to the morgue he calls Lestrade while running over to me.

"What can I do to help?" He asked crouching down next to me.

"Keep pressure on his wound. I need to find some supplies in the ambulance."

It took me longer than expected to find what I needed, so by the time I jumped down from the ambulance we had a rush of doctors followed closely by Lestrade and Donovan. Thankfully that meant I didn't have to do much. I do much better with the dead than the living anyway. I am, however, not looking forward to the autopsy I'll be performing on the other paramedic later. I stepped back from the scene to get out of the way. Sherlock walked over to stand next to me, all the while taking in as much of the scene as possible.

"Are you okay?" he questioned, taking his eyes from the grisly scene before us to look at me.

"I think so. I just wasn't expecting any of this. Why would someone shoot two people just to steal a body? Why steal the body at all?"

"I'm not sure. There wasn't anything from the crime scene that would lead me to this conclusion," he said to me before turning to Lestrade saying, "Graham, I'm going to need copies of all of the photos from both crime scenes as soon as possible, and Molly is going to need all of the photos of the body from the first scene. I'll be in the pathology lab."

"It's Greg," Lestrade stated in a terse voice. Probably wishing that Sherlock would get his name correct at least once. "And I'll get them up there as soon as we're finished up here."

"You're going to work here tonight?" I asked.

"Yes, I was thinking that the two of us could work on this together. Your expertise will be very helpful to me."

"What about John?"

"John is out with Mary tonight and since I kind of interrupted his proposal when I came back I'm trying to be a bit more considerate. I'll text him."

"Okay, I guess we should head back up to the lab then. I'll need to call Tom and let him know I'll be extremely busy for the time being."

"You might want to clean up a bit too," Sherlock said as he motions to my hands and blouse.

"You too."

Looking over the pictures of the missing dead body, whose name was Joseph Alberston, I find nothing that Sherlock doesn't already know. After two hours of helping him sort through the photographs of the two scenes for clues they wheel in the paramedic who had been DOA. I wasn't really sure I was up for the post mortem, but knew it had to be done. I don't know what made his body any different from any other person I'd autopsied over the years, but somehow he was. Sherlock seemed to feel my apprehension and followed me over to the body.

"Why is he different?"

"Maybe because you stumbled on the scene and couldn't do anything to help him," the softness of his voice both comforted and concerned me.

He is never so caring. What is going on, what is so different now? Yes, I helped him, and we had a few romantic moments before he left. Despite those moments he was never really any different than his normal self. Now he was bringing questions to mind that I wasn't sure I wanted answered.

Whatever was plaguing me about the body dissipates with the confusion in my head, and I'm able to get through the autopsy without any problems. It was pretty straight forward, cause of death being a single gunshot wound to the head.

Sherlock had gone back to looking over the photos from the crime scenes, looking for whatever it was he must have missed. I watched him for a moment, the concentration on his face fascinating; the way he can see what no one else can has always captivated my senses. I shake my head before walking over to the sink to clean up. The heat of the water washed away some of the numbness that had taken over my body and brought out the exhaustion that I didn't know I'd been feeling.

"Sherlock, do you think it would be alright if we leave now? I feel like I'm about to fall over."

"Yes, of course. I can look at these darn things anywhere. I'll go get us a cab."

Sherlock tells the driver to head to my flat first even though Baker Street is closer. I doze off, my head resting against his arm. He doesn't seem to mind even though I know he doesn't really care for much affection of any kind. Once we've arrived at my flat he walks me to the door.

"You didn't have to walk me to the door Sherlock."

"I just wanted to make sure you're really okay. It's been a long stressful night. Is uh, Tom here to take care of you?"

"No, he said he'd stay at his place tonight since I wasn't sure how long I'd be. I'll be okay now that I'm home. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help tonight."

"I'll see you soon Molly," he said before heading back to the cab.

I let myself inside planning to just fall into bed. I don't care that I'm still dressed I just want the day to be done with. Instead I succumbed to the blackness before I get the chance to gasp.

I wake up not quite sure where I am. My mouth feels dry, like it's filled with cotton balls. The concrete floor is cold and hard making my body ache. I'm trying to take in all of my surroundings so that I might be able to figure out where I am, and hope that in doing so I'll be able to figure out how to possibly escape. All I can come up with is warehouse. It's mostly empty, a few scattered crates and of course this lovely floor I find myself on. I've never wished to be able to see things the way Sherlock does more than I do right now. He would know what to do, though he probably wouldn't have been ambushed in the first place.

"I see you're awake Molly Dear," the familiar sing-song voice makes me cringe.

"Jim," I said with a slight gasp. I shouldn't be surprised that he's still alive, but I am.

"Yes love, did you miss me?"

"No, not really."

"That's too bad, it would have made this much harder if I thought you had missed me. Of course that means now you'll be a nice toy to play with; to dangle in front of our favorite consulting detective. I underestimated you Molly. I didn't even look at you past the original access you gave me to Sherlock. The way he dismissed you whenever you were in a room showed just how little use you'd be to me. I never would have believed he would turn to you for help. Granted the fact that you would do anything for him probably helped in his decision."

"What do you want Jim?"

"I want what I've always wanted, to win the game. I do love playing games with Sherlock. It's always such fun to watch him gallivanting all over London trying to solve my puzzles. The more I can hurt him in the process the better. Since he thwarted my last game by living, thanks to you, we'll have to start a new game. This game shall have higher stakes. Did you know I once promised to burn the heart out of him? Now the question is how much do I want to hurt him and what will hurt him the most?" As he finishes he nods toward me.

"But I'm nobody, he was just taking advantage me like he always has. Using me won't hurt him, he doesn't care about me."

"Oh Molly, are you really that naïve? I know how Sherlock thinks, and you mean a whole lot more than you could ever imagine. It wasn't just that I wasn't looking at you or that you have a skill set that he could use to his advantage. He would have to trust you explicitly to ask for your help in faking his death," he said of this in that sing-song voice of his with a smile that makes me want to melt into the walls. "I've been keeping tabs on you my sweet Molly; had a good friend watching you. I know Sherlock stayed with you for weeks before leaving London. So tell me Molly, what really happened in those few weeks? Did all your dreams come true getting to play house with Sherlock Holmes? Then again maybe they didn't come true seeing as you seem to have moved on to someone else. Have you really moved on Molly Dear?"

"You've had someone watching me?" I asked, trembling for the first time since waking up in this damned warehouse. Did I say or do something that tipped someone off. Maybe I didn't look like I was grieving enough considering everyone knew I was in love with him. What am I going to tell Sherlock? Am I actually ever going to see him again?

"As soon as I discovered he wasn't dead and that is was you who helped make it all happen. It didn't take too long to figure out once he started taking apart my lovely criminal network. I've been waiting for him to turn back up in London so we could play again. I think it might be fun to send him a nice gift. In fact I'm sure you'll make a very nice gift for Sherlock. Yes, I think that will be perfect. Oh don't worry I'll let you live…for now."

"Why Jim? I don't understand," I managed between sobs.

"Because he's in love with you Molly Dear," is what I think I hear before blacking out.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter one. I tried to message you all back, but if I missed any of you I'm very sorry. I appreciate the time you all take to read my story and hope you enjoy what I have here for you now and will enjoy future chapters. Thanks again!_

**Chapter Two**

I'm at Baker Street still going over the crime scene photos, frustrated because I can't seem to figure out what it is that I'm missing. What was it about that body that someone needed it to disappear? I have the photos pinned to the wall in hope that the different perspective will show me the clue, but it's not helping any.

Of course it also doesn't help that I keep thinking about Molly every few moments. Thoughts of her wearing my shirt keep invading my mind. I wasn't lying when I told her that she looked better in the shirt than I do. I shouldn't have said anything, but I just couldn't seem to help myself. I'm glad that she's finally found some happiness and I don't want to get in the way, but at the same time I do. Maybe I should have tried to stay in touch with her while I was gone, maybe then things could be different now. I can't change the past and now I've lost out on any claim I might have ever had on Molly Hooper.

What am I even doing? I shouldn't be thinking about any of this at all. I'll just delete it and everything will go back to normal. And yet, no matter how many times I've tried I cannot seem to delete even one detail about Molly from my mind.

Maybe I should phone John and see if he can stop by and take a look at the photos. I doubt that he'll be able to see anything that I haven't, but he always makes a good sounding board. Maybe I can casually pick his brain about Molly without him figuring out what I'm doing. Though his track record with women isn't that great, granted it looks like he's finally found someone worth keeping in Mary. I pick up my phone just as the text comes in.

**Come out and play. She needs your help.**

I wasn't sure where I should be going to help "her" whoever she might be, however, the only person that ever wants to "play" is Moriarty. If Moriarty is involved in this that could mean someone is primed to explode or something as equally as bad. With this knowledge I rush out the door and almost trip over _her_ body.

Molly, my Molly is lying there on my doorstep in a bloody heap. My heart stops in the moment that I realize it's her, and doesn't start again until I comprehend that she's still alive. I'm on my phone calling for an ambulance as soon as my brain starts functioning again, and yelling at Mrs. Hudson to phone John and Lestrade.

"Molly. Molly. I need you to look at me please. Open your eyes," I said hoping that she'll wake up, but her eyes don't even flutter. "You're going to be alright. I'm right here," I whispered to her, saying the words more for myself because I know I can't lose her. Anger fills my gut with the realization of what this could mean for the game Moriarty has planned for me to play this time around.

I'm not sure if I was breathing the entire way to the hospital. I'm not sure I'll be able to really breathe again until I know for sure that she's going to make it through, and until Jim Moriarty is finally out of our lives forever. I need to get out there; need to find him, but I can't seem to move from the waiting room chair I'm occupying at Bart's. I vaguely register that John has rushed in with Mary right behind him, but still I don't move or look up in their direction.

Moriarty has figured out how I faked my death and now Molly is paying for my deception, I need to think. The board is set and the next move is mine.

"Sherlock. Sherlock," John practically yelling my name finally snaps me out of my thoughts, "what happened? How bad is it, is Molly going to be okay?" he asks once he notices that he has my attention.

"I don't know. She was unconscious when I found her," I manage, "I got a text asking me to come out and play. He left her on the doorstep. I almost fell over her on my rush out the door." I show John the text as I talk.

"And you think it's Moriarty?" John questioned.

"Yes. It's certainly his style. And if it is, it's all my fault that Molly is in there now," I motion towards the room they had taken her. "She helped me. She became something more, and now she's paying for it." I'm caught off guard by my confession about her being something more. Thankfully neither John nor Mary seems to have picked up on my slip.

"Okay, I'll find out what's happening," John said before heading over to talk to one of the nurses that had just exited Molly's room.

"She's tougher than she looks Sherlock," Mary said sitting down next to me. I nod knowing that she's right. She would have to be strong to carry the secret that I was still alive around for the past two years.

I just keep thinking of all those times that I told John that caring about the victims wasn't going to help save them. Things would be so much simpler right now if I could see Molly as just another one of Moriarty's pawns; if I could just walk out those doors right now and concentrate on the game he has laid before me. Problem is Molly means so much more to me. I can hear my brother's voice echoing in my mind, "Caring is not an advantage."

"She's going to be okay Sherlock," John said as he sat back down, "she has quite a bit of bruising, a few broken ribs, a broken wrist and cuts up and down her body. He worked her over pretty good, but I think most of the trauma is going to be psychological. They're stitching her up now. She'll be in pain for a while, but she's going to make it through. What's our next move Sherlock, what's the plan?" He's staring at me with determination. I know he's ready for whatever fight might lie before us.

"I haven't figured that part out yet. He didn't leave me any clues and he always leaves something for me to follow. Why is there no clue? And where is Lestrade, why isn't he here yet?" I asked letting frustration fill my voice.

"He was out front talking to the medics when we got here, so I'm sure he'll be making his way inside soon. Do you know if anyone has called Tom?" Mary asked.

"I told one of the nurses about him, but I don't know if they called him. I didn't want to be the one to call. I'm pretty sure that he doesn't care for me, and not knowing his contact information helped in my decision."

"Seriously Sherlock that's the worst excuse, you could have all of that information with one call to your brother if you wanted," John told me, a stern look set upon his face.

"Okay I've made no effort to call her fiancé because I really don't care to meet him. I would also like to avoid the inevitable confrontation that will ensue when he sees me here."

"What makes you think there will be a confrontation?"

"Something Molly said last night makes me believe he doesn't like me too much," I said deciding not to elaborate on my conversation with Molly.

The doctor came out moments later letting us know that we could go see her. John decides he should give Mrs. Hudson a call to update her since he knows I won't remember to do it. I get up and slowly walk to her room the whole time trying to prepare myself for the hurt that will surely be in her eyes; hurt that I know I've had a part in putting there. I don't know what I'm going to say. What can I say? I'm starting to wonder if I'll be able to make it through this game without losing everything I've come to care about and possibly even love.

"Molly," I said walking through the door. My voice doesn't seem like my own, but I decide to ignore it and focus solely on Molly. The bruises are more prominent now that most of the blood has been washed away. I notice the cuts the doctors stitched up on her face; one below right eye and another along her hairline. Every injury I catalog is like a punch to the gut.

"Sherlock, Jim said he had someone watching me, giving him information," she said sobbing slightly, her voice more of a croak. I surprise myself when I sit next to her taking her hand into mine. "I never thought, I must have said or done something. I'm sorry. I don't understand how he figured it out. I'm really sorry." Her tears were leaving streaks down her face.

"Molly, you have nothing to be sorry about. I put you in this situation, I should be the one apologizing. I thought I had finished off Moriarty and his network. I never would have asked for your help if I thought for one moment that you would get hurt."

"He said this game would have higher stakes; he wants to break you. I tried to tell him that I didn't matter to you, that he shouldn't use me. I told him using me wouldn't force your hand." Every word is accentuated by her soft sobs. "He said I was wrong. I don't want him to win Sherlock."

"He's right, you are the perfect weapon. I don't plan on losing this game of his. We've outsmarted him before and we can do it again. But I want you to understand something Molly, I'm not going to let him punish you for helping me. If that means that I have to die again then I will, but I don't think he'll let me get away with faking it this time."

She nods that she understands, her tears still silently falling down her face. As I lift my hand to wipe them away Tom rushes through the doors.

"Molly, oh my, what happened? I didn't want to believe it when the nurse called." He looks frantic. I make sure to keep my mouth shut knowing that I want to keep from upsetting Molly further. I am itching to say everything I see when I look at her damned fiancé and know that I will say something given the chance. I don't know why she's always picking men who are not deserving of her, myself included, and I don't know why I love driving them away. I decide that the best way to keep myself from saying or doing something I'm going to regret is to leave. I'm sure that Molly would appreciate some time alone with Tom anyway. As I get up to leave Tom finally seems to notice I'm there and takes the chance to punch me, his fist landing square on my jaw.

"I know this is somehow your fault! Was she helping you with one or your cases again? She was doing just fine before you decided to show up again," he's yelling loud enough that one of the nurses comes in to tell him that if he doesn't quite down she'll have security escort him off the premises.

"Tom." I'm surprised by how stern Molly's voice is. "Sherlock didn't do anything. It has something to do with the body that disappeared yesterday. I don't know why they targeted me, but lunatics operate under their delusions." She tried to sit up further in her bed as she said this, but winced in pain instead. "Do you think that you could ask the nurse if I could have something a little stronger for the pain?"

"Yes, of course. I'll be right back," he said before heading towards the door; his hatred for me clear on his face.

"Why did you lie to him Molly?" I inquired after the door closes.

"I don't want to bring him into the middle this mess, and I think…I don't know if things are going to work out between us. I chose this path, working with you, John and Lestrade. I like working with you. But when Tom sees me I think he sees just a boring pathologist, he doesn't see the difference I can make when I help you. He doesn't even like to talk about my job. He doesn't understand why I helped you fake your death. If he doesn't understand these things then does he really accept who I am? I'm sorry he hit you." She reaches her hand up to touch my jaw, but I stop her, taking her hand in mine.

"I think I might have deserved it a bit. I don't want to be the reason you call off your engagement."

"You might be the catalyst, but it's not your fault really. You coming home just made me realize everything that I had told myself didn't matter, mattered more than anything else." At that I couldn't help myself from leaning over to kiss her cheek.

"I should probably go before he comes back. I'll let John and Mary know you're okay, but I'm sure they'll be in soon to see for themselves. Lestrade will be here soon too to talk to you, and you're going to have to tell him the truth. If you don't want Tom to know…" I break off.

"I'll figure it out Sherlock. Please be careful. Jim is very angry that you bested him in his last game; that we both did." Her tear streaked face was causing my heart to clench in ways that I'm not used to.

"Bye Molly," I said, squeezing her hand before leaving.

"Keep someone outside her door," I told Lestrade who was walking toward Molly's door as I am leaving.

"Of course. John was saying that you think it is Moriarty."

"Molly confirmed my suspicions. He apparently wants to punish me for living. Um, Molly doesn't want Tom to know about him though, so it would probably be best to ask him to leave, or ask in a way that possibly connects the events to the missing body. Granted I'm starting to think that the stolen body may have been the opening move in the game."

"Why Molly, Sherlock? Is this because she helped you or is there something else going on that I need to know about?"

"Greg," I think the fact that I got his name correct told him everything that he needed to know because he responded before I could say anything further.

"I understand. We'll all get through this together this time. No more rooftop meetings and plans that you don't include the rest of us in," I hear the concern in his voice, knowing that no matter what I tell him he should expect me to do the opposite.

I nod before walking over to John and Mary.

"She's doing okay. She looks pretty beat up, but you know Molly, she'll try to hide all of the pain with a smile," I don't know when it is that I figured out this piece of information about her, but I know it's true.

"Why is your jaw red?" John questioned, his eyes glancing over towards Molly's door where Tom is walking back with a nurse.

"Oh, it's nothing. Tom just thought I looked like a punching bag for some reason."

John seemed to think this was funny, maybe because he reacted in a similar fashion when I revealed to him that I wasn't truly dead.

"Lestrade is posting an officer outside her room, and since Tom is here now I'd say she's in good hands. I'm sure she'd like to see you both, but if Tom is in the room don't mention Moriarty because for some reason she doesn't want him to know about him." Before either of them can ask further questions I turn to leave. I have a cigarette out before I reach the door.

I pace outside smoking on and off for approximately an hour before heading down to the morgue. I figure it will help me think, and I feel a bit like I'm with Molly here even though she's upstairs. I don't know where to go from here. There hast been any more contact from Moriarty, no clues left with Molly or anywhere else for that matter. I don't know what my next move should be without one of his damned clues. What is he trying to prove? If I were him, what would I be doing next? I know we are alike me and him, but he has me so off balance right now that I cannot even anticipate where all of this is going. Out of frustration I decide to text Mycroft.

**At Bart's. Moriarty is back. – SH**

I don't actually expect a reply because that's not Mycroft's style. He never texts when he can talk, loves the sound of his own voice a little too much. I don't know what I might be hoping for by sending the text, but know it needed to be done. Still frustrated and pacing the lab twenty minutes later, Mycroft walks in umbrella in hand and his personal assistant Althea on his heels.

"This had better not be some joke of yours brother dear! I…I…" apparently the look on my face renders him speechless because I've never heard him stutter before. "What happened and why am I only now being informed?" He questioned, his composure back in place.

"He sent me a text and left a beaten and bloody Molly Hooper on my doorstep. She's upstairs. And I wasn't calling you until I was sure that she would be alright," I said trying not to let my emotions show.

"Why do you need from me? You wouldn't have gotten in touch if you didn't need something."

"I don't know. He hasn't left me any clues as to what the game is yet, other than he plans on using Molly to get to me. Apparently he's very upset that I didn't die two years ago. Of course he isn't dead either."

"Why are you down here if Doctor Hooper is upstairs?"

"Don't feel like stepping on her fiancé's toes. He already punched me once this evening. Well, I let him punch me anyway. It upsets Molly, and I don't need to be the cause of any more pain right now."

"She knew what she was getting into when she decided to help you. You know that right?"

"Yes, of course I know that. I also know that we couldn't have foreseen any of this. The reason I 'jumped' off that roof in the first place was to keep this from happening. But knowing doesn't make it any less my fault."

"Brother need I remind you what caring gets you?"

"Where has not caring ever gotten either of us Mycroft? We both work so hard at shutting everyone out and it's leaving us bitter and unhappy. I'm tired of it all, so I'm sorry Mycroft if I've decided to care about Molly, John or anyone else," I'm practically yelling at him, finally getting a chance to blow off my frustration and anger. "Caring hasn't dulled my senses, if anything it's made me sharper. Working with John for those two years, I saw the world differently just because I decided to care about one person. So tell me again why caring is not an advantage!"

"Maybe you should go outside and smoke," Mycroft replied avoiding the subject.

"Already did that. I just want to know what the hell game Moriarty is playing this time. Then I can put an end to it and finally be rid of him."

"Go back upstairs. See Doctor Hooper. I'll see what I can find out," he said before leaving as quickly as he had entered, Althea texting on here phone as they left.

I stand at the door trying to decide if I should take Mycroft's advice and head back to Molly's room. I told him that I could care about Molly and it wouldn't change anything, but at the same time I keep telling myself that it would be so much easier if I didn't care. It might be easier, but I'm not sure I want easier any more. Moriarty wants to make this fight personal and always had. And this time around he's definitely found the pressure point that hurts the most.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey there everyone. I'm sorry this chapter is a little short, but I've been in the middle of moving. I hope you all enjoy what I have written. _

**Chapter Three**

I finally convinced everyone to leave about an hour ago. They all kept protesting that I shouldn't be alone tonight, but I know that I need to be alone right now; a moment to not have to try putting on a brave face. I told myself I wouldn't cry, but the tears fall just the same. I'm afraid of what Sherlock will do. I'm afraid that he'll really end up dead this time, and I'll end up broken from the loss. I was so foolish to ever believe I could move on from him.

I need to tell Tom I can't do this any longer. He deserves better than what I am right now. I mean I lied to him about Moriarty, and I hate lying. I know I lied to everyone about Sherlock being dead, but I knew I was protecting him and all of my friends when I did that. I don't feel like I'm protecting Tom. When it comes to Jim Moriarty there really is no way to protect someone, he is always out there just waiting to attack.

"You've been crying again Molly." I hadn't even heard him come in I was so lost in my thoughts.

"I can't seem to stop," I try to manage a smile when answering.

"Where is Tom?"

"I convinced him to go home. I wish I could go home too," the longing in my voice causes him to look down and away. "What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid that the minute you walk out those doors he'll be back for you. I don't want to lose you Molly. I can't lose you."

"I don't understand. What changed, why now?"

"The way I saw you changed. How you could see what no one else could two years ago, and you risked everything to help me. You surprised me. Somehow you've become a voice in my head. It was you that saved me from death and you who helped keep me going those two years I was on my own."

His words make the tears start streaming down my face all over again. He could disarm me in ways that no one else could. Most of the time he was saying something completely rude and insensitive, but every so often he will say something that tugs at my heart and brings me to my knees.

"You could have lied to me you know. You lie to everyone else, why not me?"

"I don't know," he said, finally leaving the doorway and making his way over to the chair next to my bed, "you're different than everyone else."

"You know how you were talking about dying this time around, how you wouldn't be able to get away with faking it?" He nods in answer. "If you die to save me, or any of us, I'll die too."

"Molly…" I could hear the pain in his voice.

"It's not because of the way I feel about you, well maybe a little. It's just I wouldn't…wouldn't be able to handle the grief. If I couldn't help save you this time, I don't think I could live with myself," I said managing not to cry. I can tell he's uncomfortable with my confession, but then he's never been very good with emotions, his or anyone else's.

"I should probably go," he said turning away. I grab his hand, trying to hide a wince of pain in the process.

"Stay. Please." I smile to myself when he sits down his hand still wrapped in mine.

When I wake up later I'm pleasantly surprised to see that he stayed. He's still in the chair, his hand intertwined with my own. I'm also surprised that he's actually sleeping. I'm sure he exhausted himself yesterday, finding me and no clues from Moriarty. I can't imagine how frustrating that must be for him, and I could see it written all over his face last night. I close my eyes and enjoy this moment even though I know I shouldn't be able to enjoy anything while Moriarty is somewhere out there just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

I hear someone come in later. When I finally open my eyes I find Tom taking in the scene before him. Sherlock asleep holding my hand.

"Tom," I said it hoping he'd focus on me instead of Sherlock, but I can see all of the hurt and anger he's feeling.

"Molly, why is he here? What's going on?" he asked with such venom in his voice I actually recoil into my pillows, my hand wrenching out of Sherlock's. Doing so wakes him up faster than a bucket of cold water could have. Probably thinking that Moriarty had come back for me he looks confused when he sees Tom.

"I'm sorry Tom. He came back last night and I asked him to stay."

"I think I'll be going then," Sherlock said standing to leave. Thankfully he walks out without Tom taking another swing at him.

"If you wanted someone to stay with you, you should have called. I would have come back," he said after the door had closed behind Sherlock, the anger still filling his voice. He sets down a bag on the nearest chair that I can only guess holds some of my clothes.

"I know you would have, but the thing is it was Sherlock I needed to stay. He understands what's going on with me right now. I'm sure that's not something you want to hear, I know it's not, but I don't want to lie."

"I knew this was going to happen. The minute he returned I knew it was only a matter of time before you chose him over me. I wanted to believe that I was wrong, but yesterday when I saw the way you looked at each other I knew my time was over. So tell me now, what really happened when he stayed with you after faking his death?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," I practically yelled at him, "I never expected him to return, and I fell in love with you, I really did. But when Sherlock came home I discovered I was lying to myself about what I wanted out of life. Even if he had never returned and even if he never feels the same I know that no one else will ever quite measure up. This isn't the way I wanted things to go. I wanted everything to be different, to believe that I could move on," I said much calmer.

"I guess it's better that I learned the truth now instead after getting married. You know I've heard the stories, how he treated you. What do you find so appealing about someone who would walk all over you like that? What's so bloody special about Sherlock Holmes?" his voice getting louder with each word.

"My ring is at the nurse's station, you should probably pick it up on your way out," I said avoiding his questions.

"He's just going to end up hurting you Molly because that's who he is. And I hope that it breaks your heart when you realize what you lost, what you game up for _him_," he replied before walking out the door.

He's right, Sherlock will break my heart, but he's been breaking it for as long as I've known him. I'm sure that doesn't make me the smartest person when it comes to men, but there's something about him that I just can't give up on. There's something I can see in him, and maybe I'm delusional, I just know I will always be here waiting for him to discover that something too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

I stayed outside Molly's door trying to decide if I should stay or finally head back to Baker Street, maybe go for a walk to clear my head and figure out what I should be doing next. I have a few messages waiting on my phone that I'm sure are all from John, but they can wait a little longer. I can hear Molly and Tom's terse conversation and decide to stay. I have a feeling Tom will be leaving soon.

I've always known Molly's feelings towards me even if I chose to ignore them most of the time, which usually led to me embarrassing her, myself, or even on occasion both of us. Hearing her tell Tom that no one else would ever measure up to me makes me wonder what it is she thinks sees in me. What is it about me that she could be so enamored with?

I'm a complete arse most of the time. I'm always having to endure John telling me that I've said or done something "not good." However, Molly has always been able to see me in ways that no one else could. Maybe there's a chance she sees something that even I can't see or maybe I just don't want to see in myself. Maybe I've been following my brother's philosophies for too long.

I'm surprised when Tom rushes past me without any notice. I thought that I'd have to deal with another confrontation, and I wasn't planning on being so nice this time around. I'm actually kind of disappointed that I don't get a chance to punch him too.

"Molly," I said walking back into her room, "I think I'm going to head out for a while. I'm sure John is going to be waiting for me at Baker Street since I haven't returned any of his many messages. Will you be okay alone?"

"Greg has someone posted outside, so I'm sure I'll be safe. He is still out there right?"

"Yes, he's still there. I shouldn't be too long, would you like me to get anything for you?"

"Um, I think Tom brought me some stuff in that bag over there," she said motioning towards the chair, "can you see what's inside?"

"Sure," I said picking up the bag. It feels a bit strange going through her things knowing that her engagement has just ended, "it looks like some pajamas, underthings and toiletries."

"That's probably all I'll need when I'm discharged."

"About that Molly. I was thinking maybe, maybe you should come stay with me at Baker Street." I'm surprised at the nervousness in my voice, and I hope she hasn't noticed as well.

"You're asking me to move in with you? Won't I just be in the way? I mean I know you'll be busy finding Jim and I don't want you to feel I'm always underfoot."

"You won't be in the way Molly. I want to know, need to know that you'll be safe. I won't let him hurt you any further."

"Okay, I guess if I won't be in your way."

"Well, I'll be off then."

I was correct in thinking that John would be waiting for me at the flat. I could hear both him and Mary conversing as I made my way up the stairs.

"I figured you'd be here," I told John as I walked through the door.

"Well, you were ignoring my messages and I knew you'd end up here eventually. You always do. And just so you know I've searched the place looking for any of your secret stashes."

"Of course you did. Sorry to disappoint then."

"How's Molly doing?" Mary interjected.

"Let's see, there has been quite a bit of crying, some sleeping, and an ended engagement, though I'm not sure I'm supposed to know about that last part."

"What?" they both questioned at once.

"She and Tom have ended their engagement, I thought I was quite clear when I mentioned it."

"Were you at Bart's all night?" John asked.

"Yes, of course that's where I was." Before they could question me further Mrs. Hudson walks in with tea and biscuits.

"Oh Sherlock, I didn't hear you come in. How is sweet Molly doing?"

"As I was just explaining to John and Mary there has been crying, sleeping and an ended engagement. I'm sure that John has already reported all of her injuries to you."

"Oh dear, her engagement has ended. She must be devastated."

"I could see how she might be. You feel free to coddle her all you'd like when I bring her back after she leaves the hospital."

"You're bringing her here? Do you think that's the smartest idea?" John asked with raised eyebrows, "You're not exactly known for being the nicest person when it comes to Molly."

"Yes, of course I am. She shouldn't be alone with Moriarty out there playing this game of his. I need to know she's safe." I think I see a bit of a smirk on John's face, but dismiss the idea immediately.

"Still no clues or contact then?"

"No. What is he waiting for? Usually he's given some sort of puzzle to solve or is taunting me by now. Though Molly said he wanted to break me, so maybe he's just going to drive me to madness by ignoring me." I know I'm being sarcastic, but it's my best defense mechanism.

I realize I've started pacing again when I catch the three of them staring at me intently, waiting for me to continue my rant. Problem is I seem to be at my wit's end, not know where I should be going from this point. My brain just keeps asking why there are no clues or puzzle, and what it is that Moriarty really wants. I need to solve this. I need to figure out how to keep Molly safe.

"Would you like us to go pick up some of her things? She won't have anything to wear otherwise," Mary inquired after I don't offer up any more information on my frustration with the situation. Her words bring to mind thoughts of Molly in my shirt again. I need to stop letting her consume my thoughts, but I'm not sure I really want to stop.

"I was thinking about doing that before heading back to Bart's. Tom brought her a bag with some pajamas but I figure she'll need something more."

"We can do that for you. That way you can make sure she gets here without any problems. Any idea when they might be discharging her?" Mary asked.

"I figure it'll probably be later today since there isn't much else they can do for her at this point since none of her injuries are life threatening. I guess you could go get her some of her things. You should probably bring her cat as well." While I don't mind Toby too much I don't really know if I want him underfoot in my own home. When I was staying with Molly I was in his domain so I didn't have much of a choice. However, I know that having him here with make Molly happy and I want her to have some semblance of home while she's here.

"You with a cat," John said trying not to laugh, but failing miserably.

"What's so funny about bringing Toby here?"

"You actually know Molly's cat's name?" he asked laughing harder.

"Why wouldn't I know his name? I lived with Molly for a few weeks after my death. He actually likes me too." I have no idea why I felt the need to impart that last bit.

"Okay then. We'll head over to Molly's to pick up her things and bring them back here," Mary said since John was still in the throes of laughter.

When I arrived back at the hospital I was unpleasantly surprised to find my brother talking to Molly in her room. I stood just outside the door listening to figure out just exactly how furious I needed to be with Mycroft.

"I don't understand what it is you think I can tell you about Sherlock, Mr. Holmes," I heard Molly telling him.

"Well, I assume in his misguided guilt he's offered you some sort of protection such as moving into that abysmal flat of his. I just want you to keep me updated on his wellbeing."

"Mycroft, when are you going to stop trying to pay for information on me?" I inquired sauntering into the room.

"When you deem it important enough to keep me in the loop."

"Why would I do that when you bug my flat every few months anyway? Plus what could you possibly need to know that you don't already have figured out, or are you starting to slip?" The jab at his deductive skills would sting almost as much as a jab at his weight. In fact I could tell it was working as he tried to stare me down with such an intensity that he reserved for his most problematic situations. I always seemed to find myself somewhere at the top of that list.

"Sherlock," Molly's voice broke through our little staring contest. How is it that she can reprimand me, and bring me to focus all with my name, not even my mother has that ability. I could tell that Mycroft was secreting away this information for a later date when I caught him with the ghost of a smile on his face.

"And Mycroft Holmes what gives you the right to go around trying to force information out of Sherlock's friends?" Molly's tone towards Mycroft seemed to take him aback. I'm not sure anyone other than me has ever talked back to him. "If you want to know something then you should ask him yourself, and if he doesn't feel the need to answer you then maybe you don't need to know the answer. You both need to start acting like adults instead of children." I found that I was extremely proud of her. She used to cower around people like myself and Mycroft and here she was sitting on a hospital bed covered in cuts and bruises scolding us.

I don't know what I'm to do with all of these feelings that she keeps bringing out in me since my return. She keeps finding different ways to amaze me and I keep wondering how I missed all these qualities for so many years. Maybe I didn't really miss them, maybe I was repressing them. I always thought that I was protecting the both of us whenever I would rebuff her advances, but I think maybe I was just turning her into a shell instead. Could I have had this remarkable woman before me now all those years if I had just been a little bit nicer, or is it only through the trials we shared that she became who she is now? All I end up with are more and more questions.

"I think I will take that as my cue to leave," Mycroft said gruffly getting up and heading to the door. "Heal well Doctor Hooper," he said at the door before turning to me, "brother," and walking out the door.

_**Thank you everyone for being patient, this chapter has been giving me fits for a while now. I'm glad I finally have it finished for you and am hoping the next one won't take so long. Thank you to everyone who has sent in reviews as I greatly appreciate them. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story and will stick around until the final chapter. **_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

I can't believe I just scolded the Holmes brothers! What was I thinking? And how could they squabble over something so insignificant when Jim Moriarty is out there, when all of us might be in real danger?

"What are you smiling about Sherlock?"

"I'm proud of you Molly. I don't think I've ever seen anyone put Mycroft in his place like that. I think he just might be afraid of you now," he said it more as a joke, but it made me smile all the same.

"Well, you have good timing. Just before your brother showed up my doctor brought me my discharge papers. If he hadn't wandered in as if he owned the place I'd probably be dressed and ready to leave."

"Well, I'll step out then so you can get sorted."

"Actually, I was...was wondering," darn I was stammering again, "could you maybe stay in case I need some help?" He looked uncomfortable at my question. "I mean if you don't want to that's okay."

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer one of the nurses?" he questioned clearing his throat.

"Yes, I guess that would be best. I'm just sick of doctors and nurses right now."

"I'll stay then."

"Thank you. Could you hand me my bag?"

"Yes of course." As he passed the bag over to me my hand brushed over his and I wonder if he feels the same electric sensations that I do when we touch, or if he truly doesn't have the same feelings the rest of us do.

"I'll just give you a shout if I need anything," I explained as I limp towards the small restroom. He just nods. I hope that I won't need his help for his sake since he seems so uncomfortable. I don't understand his distress as he has seen me without clothing before, but then again I was engaged to another man until earlier this morning.

I look through the bag hoping that Tom packed items that won't be too difficult to put on. My whole body aches with every movement, but at the same time I'm glad to be out of that damned bed. Upon inspection of the bag I find my favorite pajama pants, but the item I didn't expect was Sherlock's shirt. What in hell made Tom decide to pack it? Just two days ago he was angry at the sight of it in my closet and now here it is waiting for me to wear.

I decide not to dwell on his strange decision since I know it'll be much easier to put on than most of my other clothing he could have chosen. As I undress and take in the damage that Jim has brought upon my body I notice an item that is not an injury, but new all the same. I pull on my clothing as quickly as possible before calling to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, can you please come here?" I can hear the panic in my voice. I need to calm down, but I can't seem to breathe.

Sherlock enters the room tentatively, and I hear his intake of breath at the sight of me. I'm not sure if it's me in his shirt again or the sight of my injuries, but I can't worry about that now. He composes himself quickly when he realizes I'm having a panic attack. He is standing at my side before I know it.

"Just breathe Molly. You're okay. I'm right here, and won't let anything happen to you."

In response to his words I lift the side of my shirt to show him what has gotten me all worked up. I see something I can't quite describe flash across his face, a combination of pain and possibly fear. He drops down into a crouch to examine it further. He is quiet and I don't like the silence. I want answers. I want…I don't know what I want.

"Sherlock," I say with a small voice. "Why did he do this?"

"Because he knew it would be overlooked by the doctors when they cataloged your injuries. It was meant for only you and me to see." He said lightly rubbing his thumb across the offending patch of skin, causing me to tremble.

"What does it mean?"

"It's the clue I've been waiting for. Maybe." He sounds so unsure, but I need his assurance now. I need him to understand what's happening and take care of it. He has to be able to fix it. I have to believe that it's possible for us to beat Moriarty.

"Let's get you to Baker Street," he said abruptly. "I need to think, I need to…" his words drop off and he starts to leave. He's in his own little world, and I am forgotten.

I look back down at my side with tears falling. I don't know if this is how Jim plans to break Sherlock, but he has succeeded in breaking me. The small tattoos of an apple and burning heart mean something to Sherlock, but all it means to me is that I'll never be able to escape Jim Moriarty.

I slowly pick up my things before leaving the restroom thinking I'll have to track Sherlock down, but find him sitting in one of the chair with his eyes shut tightly. I silently stare at him hoping I'll find some clue as to what's going on in his mind, but only notice how closed off he seems, compared to how he's been these past few days. I want to go to him, but know that he won't appreciate my interference.

The sound of an incoming text breaks Sherlock out of his trance and he notices me standing there watching. He looks at me, really looks at me, taking in my red eyes and the pain both emotional and physical, before he looks down at his phone.

"John and Mary are back with your things," he remarked jumping from his place in the chair before grabbing my hand and practically dragging me out to a waiting car that I can only assume Mycroft has provided.

We sit in silence until I can't take it any longer. "What does it mean Sherlock, the tattoo?" I inquired.

"It means he knows far more about our relationship than I expected. It's not so much a clue as a reminder of a promise he once made to me," his voice is hoarse, and he still seems far away lost in his thoughts.

"What promise?" I questioned in vain because he is so deep in his mind that nothing else exists any longer.

When we reach Baker Street he rushes out of the car without any thought to me. I slowly make my way to 221 hoping that the stairs won't be as difficult to navigate as I foresee them being. I find I needn't worry as both Mrs. Hudson and Mary are waiting for me when I walk through the door.

"Oh Molly dear," Mrs. Hudson spoke with a look of worry on her face. "Let's get you settled upstairs and I'll get you a cuppa."

Mary was kind enough to make sure I made it up the stairs. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I think that I had gone numb from shock. Sherlock and John were in the middle of a terse conversation when we walked through the door. They didn't even look our way.

"Sherlock told us to put your stuff in his room," Mary was saying, but I was only partially listening. "He had us bring Toby too." I nodded in response. Grateful that they brought Toby, knowing Sherlock would have told them I would need him.

Before I knew it I was lying down on Sherlock's bed. I know that he doesn't sleep here much, but I could smell him on the sheets, and all I desired was close my eyes and breathe him in. Mary was still talking but I wasn't listening. I was thinking that if I could just stay here wrapped in Sherlock's sheets, then just maybe I could forget all of the pain that I was in now and the pain that I knew would be coming. Maybe I could find a little bit of peace.

"Molly, Molly," I focused back on Mary when I finally heard her calling my name.

"Sorry Mary, I'm just a little out of it right now. What were you saying?"

"Nothing really. I was just wondering how you're doing?"

"As well as can be expected I guess. Even though I slept at the hospital I'm exhausted, and I don't know if it's the injuries or knowing how much stress we're all under. We just got Sherlock back, and I'm afraid we'll lose him all over again."

"I can't even fathom what it was like for you Molly, having to lie to everyone. But you lost him just like everyone else did didn't you? I know how it was hard it was on John, but now I think that maybe you were the one who lost the most."

"I don't know, I mean at least I knew he was alive. I had something to hold on to." I realized I was playing with the hem of Sherlock's shirt as I said this. Mary was watching me intently, but didn't say anything in regard to my actions.

"I think I'll go see if Mrs. Hudson needs any help with that tea. You rest up, and don't worry too much. If I know anything it's that Sherlock and John will make Moriarty pay for what he's done to you." She sounded so sure, and all I could wish was that I could have just a fraction of her confidence.

"Thank you Mary." I whispered before she left the room.

After she leaves, I cocoon myself in Sherlock's bed hoping that it will make me feel safer, and help take away the worry. I want to believe Mary's words; that Jim will pay for what he's done, not just to me but all of us. I encase myself in the sheets until I can remember the feel of Sherlock's around me, and I breathe in the comfort that it will afford me if even just for a moment. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep; memories of my last night with Sherlock keeping me safe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

I left Molly in the capable hand of Mrs. Hudson and Mary as I sprinted up the stairs. I need to take this small shred of a clue and extrapolate all that I can. If I can figure out exactly how Moriarty is planning on using Molly then I can keep her safe, and maybe avoid jumping off any more rooftops in the process. Upon rushing into the flat I find that John is waiting, and I have a feeling that he's going to want explanations right now instead of waiting.

"So are you going to tell me what has you rushing up the stairs without Molly?"

"A clue. Molly had the clue this entire time," I revealed.

"So you're telling me now that you have a damned clue you're going to stop worrying over Molly and turn into a damned machine again?" He sounded irate.

"Mary and Mrs. Hudson are helping Molly and I thought solving the clue swiftly would be preferable. How am I supposed to do that if I'm not actually working on it, if I'm worrying over Molly?"

"Okay, let's hear it then," he said and I could tell he was impatient. "What is it that Moriarty wants this time?"

I had fully intended to tell John everything about the clue, but now the prospect of saying aloud what Moriarty had done to Molly, my Molly, leaves me almost speechless. When did I start thinking of her as my own? It's time to clear my head otherwise I'll be of no use to her. And I need her to be safe, I cannot lose her.

"Well?"

"John," my voice was hoarse. I know I need to compose myself before I continue. "Let's just say Moriarty has reminded me of a promise that he made me years ago." Too vague, he's going to know something is up.

"What promise might that be?"

"Do you remember that night at the pool?" Of course he remembers the pool, he was primed to explode with one wrong move or word.

"Hard to forget having a bomb strapped to my chest."

"Yes, well do you remember what he told me? What he promised that he'd do to me if I didn't stop my pursuit of him?"

"Sorry I don't quite remember all the ravings of that lunatic."

"He told me that he'd burn the heart out of me. Silly idea of course, but let's say that seems to be his current line of thinking." He also pointed out that I do, in fact, have a heart despite trying to project otherwise to the world.

"And what, he thinks that Molly somehow holds your heart? Or is she just convenient because she helped you fake your death?"

I turn away from him at his question. I don't want to answer because it means admitting to myself that Molly is special, and she's more special that she could ever guess. Though I guess I've probably proved that already over the past twenty-four hours. I decide I might try covering for myself by writing 'tattoo' on a piece of paper and proceed to pin it to an empty space on the wall. Of course John is not one to let anything go.

"Tattoo? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought that would be quite obvious John. It's my clue."

"And somehow that's not the entire answer. Usually you would go on and on about it just to show off how smart you are," I start to protest even though I know he's right, "Don't even try to deny it Sherlock. You love being the smartest person in the room and reminding everyone of that fact even if it's just me. So, please drop whatever this is and for once tell me the truth." He says all this with his hands waving in front of me, which is quite distracting, but I understand that he's trying to contain some of his anger and frustration.

"Oh for goodness sake Moriarty left a tattoo on Molly of an apple and a burning heart, and that's all I have at the moment. I need to figure out what his plans are so I can protect her."

"An apple?"

"It means I owe you. After his trial Moriarty stopped by for a bit of a visit. He sat right there in my chair John and carved up an apple with the letters I O U, so in essence he's told me that he still plans to burn my heart."

"But why give Molly a tattoo? He usually likes a bit more drama than that."

"I don't know John. This whole situation is opposite of what I would normally expect from him. The game is on and there are completely new rules. I need to figure out what his endgame is. If I can figure that out then I will be able to win the game."

"Boys, can you take a break for a moment?" Mary questioned. I hadn't even noticed her entering the room. "Yesterday Molly seemed to be dealing with this whole situation and now she seems to be withdrawing into herself. What happened?"

I want to start shooting things at her words, I also find that I want to go to Molly and reassure her in any way possible. I cannot let Moriarty do this to her. If he wants to come after me that's one thing, but to hurt Molly this way, I can't let him break her. She deserves much better than she has been given being associated with me.

"Are either of you going to say anything?"

"Apparently Moriarty left a tattoo on Molly, and that's our clue," John finally spoke up while I started up my pacing again.

"He tattooed her?" Mary questioned, her voice both soft and angry. Both John and I nod in reply. "Will this clue help you find him?"

"I don't know. I don't like not knowing. It does give me a bit of insight into his possible train of thought. Of what he could possibly be planning for us this time around," I find myself saying all of this to Mary and John knowing that I am lying. All I know is that both Molly and I have large targets on our backs. I have a feeling that there won't be many other payers in this game, but I don't want to say those words aloud.

"I'll let you boys brainstorm a bit more then, and see how Mrs. Hudson is doing with Molly's tea," Mary suggested as she headed for the stairs.

I don't know where to go from here. I have this small piece of evidence and no idea where it could lead me. I don't even know how I'm supposed to take what is essentially a reminder of a promise made from a psychopath to his favorite sociopath.

"I need to think John. You and Mary may as well go home, it may be a while before I can draw any conclusions."

"Maybe we should stay, just in case Molly needs something," John stated. Clearly he feels leaving Molly in my care is a mistake. Can he not see that I've been making every effort with her, that things are different now?

"No, we'll be fine I'm sure." I wave him off in hopes that I'll get a moment to myself to sort through not just the clue, but these emotions I find swirling about.

"Well, tell Molly that if she needs us we'll be here right quick."

"Yes, yes of course."

John leaves a bit reluctantly. I can hear a bit of his conversation with Mrs. Hudson and Mary downstairs before I finally hear the front door slam.

"Yoo-hoo, do you think that Molly would like her cuppa now?" Mrs. Hudson questioned in her ever cheerful voice.

"Just leave it and I'll take it to her," I promised. Thankfully she leaves without another word.

Now that I am finally alone, I can hear Molly's small cries emanating from the bedroom. I can tell she's trying hard not to cry by the way she was choking on the sobs. I don't do well with tears and have had quite enough of them over the past twenty-four hours, but know that I can't blame Molly for her overemotional state.

I make my way to my bedroom with the tea that Mrs. Hudson made. Molly seems to have cocooned herself in my sheets in an effort to find some sort of comfort. It doesn't seem to be having the correct effect if she's still crying though.

"Molly, can you stop crying please?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thank you everyone for being extremely patient for this chapter. I really am hoping that I'll be able to get the rest of the story up in a more timely fashion. If I've got things all worked out in my head correctly then the next chapter should be a bit of an emotional one. Please leave your reviews because I appreciate all of the fabulous feedback you give so that I can give you a better story. <strong>_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

I tried hard not to cry, I would have thought that I couldn't cry anymore. Feeling humiliated and hurt all over again, knowing now what Jim had turned me into. I don't want to be the puzzle that needs solving. I can already see the conflicting emotions in Sherlock, and now I know it will be twice as hard. It's one thing to have me here to keep me safe, but now I'm going to be a stark reminder of Jim Moriarty. I'm afraid that every time he looks at me now all he'll see is what Jim has made me, and any progress that we've made in our strange relationship will be lost. He's going to start pushing me away again, and I can't blame him.

Despite the comfort of being wrapped in Sherlock's sheets real fear is starting to settle in. There is so much we don't know about what Moriarty has in store for any of us, and I am the one clue. Not just because of the two small tattoos marring my side, but also because as of right now I am the only piece that seems to be in play in this outrageous game. I'm not sure if even the great Sherlock Holmes is up for the challenge Moriarty is offering this time, and that's what scares me the most.

"Molly, can you stop crying please?" Sherlock startled me a bit since I hadn't heard him enter.

"Doesn't seem to matter even though I want to stop, the tears just keep coming," I confessed.

"Mrs. Hudson made you some tea," he began as he handed me the delicate cup. The warmth helping to take away the numbness that had taken over my body. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe from him."

"I don't blame you Sherlock, not at all," I insisted. I want him to understand that this is in no way his fault. "If it hadn't been me it would have been someone else. This isn't exactly a new tactic on his part."

"I know that, but I put you in more danger when I asked for your help," he replied. "And somehow Moriarty knows things he shouldn't," he uttered turning away from me.

"Tell me the truth Sherlock, are we going to make it through this?" I asked.

"I don't know, and you know how I feel about that. I'm not exactly sure which direction he's trying to push me this time. Last go around Moriarty and I were of a similar mind, but things have changed for me," he watched me intently while speaking. "It never bothered me that we were the same him and I, and yet somehow now knowing everything that could truly be lost I don't want those similarities."

"You might believe that, but you're not like him. I've known you for a long while now and I know that while you're capable of being like Jim you choose not to be, and that's what really matters." I find myself setting aside the tea and taking his hand. "Will you tell me what the tattoo means?"

"It's just a reminder of his promise to me. That he would burn my heart out," he sounds sad and far away.

"But why me? I'm not anyone special."

"Do you really believe that?" He questioned his eyes wide with shock.

"I mean I know that we're friends, but how can he think that I'm more important than…than anyone really."

"Molly, you are more than my friend."

"What does that mean exactly?" I don't want to give myself false hope, but Moriarty's last words to me (or at least what I think I heard) are echoing in my head and heart.

Sherlock can't seem to find the words he's looking for because the silence in the room slowly becomes deafening. He has a look I've never seen on his face before, possibly something akin to nervousness. I squeeze his hand in what I hope is comfort before I proceed.

"He said something to me before I blacked out, before he did all of this," I explained motioning to my body. "I thought it was just part of a dream, but maybe he really did say it." Sherlock had worry in his eyes, as if I was about to confirm his worst fear. "As I was fading I thought I heard him tell me that you're…you're in love with me."

"Molly, I…" I could see the pain in his eyes that he wanted to deny all of it. He wanted to hide behind the notion that he didn't have a heart and thus couldn't love.

I turn away not wanting him to see the heartbreak I know is clearly written on my face. He loves me, but is going to deny any possibility and that hurts more than thinking he would never love me. I let my hand fall away from his planning to hide myself back in the comfort of the blankets where I'll be free to grieve for the love I'll never get the chance to possess.

"He's not wrong, I do love you," he confessed. I turn back to face him finding his eyes glistening with the beginnings of tears. "You Molly are the only person who really sees me, and somewhere along the way you crept your way into my heart. I didn't notice until that night when you told me I looked sad. I don't think I wanted to see what was right there in front of me, and I'm sorry for that. But if Moriarty knows…" I'd never seen Sherlock like this before, not even on that fateful night two years ago, the melancholy that was etched across the sharp features of his too handsome face.

"I believe in you Sherlock Holmes," I whispered before placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I don't understand why you would. All I ever seem to do is hurt you. What is it that you see when you look at me and why is it only you who sees it?" His question is out of character for him, but then so was admitting he loves me.

"I…I don't know what exactly you want me to tell you. I know you think I've got you up on some pedestal where I cannot see your faults, but I do see them. I have seen the amazing things that you have the ability to accomplish with that remarkable mind of yours and despite your brash personality it's your brilliance the way you see the world that has always captivated me. We've known each other for a while now and slowly I started to see small glimpses of you, the bits that you like to hide from the world. It's those moments when I really seem to fall in love with you. I must sound so silly to you."

"No, not silly. Despite the many times I'm sure I've made you feel that way, you've never been silly." I don't know why but I start rubbing the hem of his shirt again. "You're starting to wear a hole there from doing that Molly."

"I guess I am. It's a bit of a nervous habit I've taken to," I agreed looking down. I'm surprised when he decides to sit down next to me, taking my hand into his own.

"I was right when I said you look great wearing my shirt, better than I remember even, but it would be a tragedy if you wore a hole into it like that," he commented with a hint of a smile.

"You could always lend me another," I suggested, mostly as a joke, but the look in his eyes told me he wouldn't mind handing over as many of his shirts as I could possibly want.

What am I doing here? Am I actually sitting here covered in cuts and bruises flirting with Sherlock Holmes? And is he really flirting back? I'm pretty sure my doctors didn't give me anything that would make me hallucinate, but I guess it's a possibility. Other than the cuts and bruises (not to mention criminal mastermind lurking somewhere) this is like a dream come true for me. I mean how often does one find themselves in a position where the man they've been in love with for years is suddenly confessing his feelings and exchanging flirty banter?

"Molly," he murmured just when I was beginning to wonder if I had said the wrong thing.

I don't know where the courage comes from, but I can't seem to help myself from pressing my lips firmly against his. Before I even have a chance to process what I've done his hands are cupping my face as he deepens our kiss. Now I know I must be dreaming because only in my wildest fantasies would Sherlock be kissing me with such passion. He pulls away all too soon for my liking, but keeps his gentle hold on my face. His eyes looking at me with such desire I wanted to kiss him again. Of course it was in that very moment I remember that I had been engaged just earlier this morning.

He must notice a change in me because he takes his hands from my face to run them down my arms stopping at my hands.

"Maybe you should get some rest."

"Quite a bit has happened in the past couple days hasn't it?"

"I have a feeling that it's not going to get any easier in the near future. Moriarty is not likely to give us much breathing room. I'm sure by now he's realized I've seen the tattoo which means he'll be quick to up the game."

"I don't want to be his pawn Sherlock."

"And you never will be, I promise."

"Thank you," I said leaning my head against his shoulder.

We sat for an indeterminable amount of moments leaning into each other. At some point he had started playing with my hair, gently stroking his fingers through the soft strands. I don't know what happened to change Sherlock into the man sitting with me right now, but I may love this version of him more than ever before.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know I am waking up in the dark. I don't recognize where I am and I want to scream out in fear. Too much had happened to me in the past two days not to be afraid of my own shadow. The only thing keeping me from screaming is the feeling of being enveloped in warmth.

"Go back to sleep Molly," Sherlock groaned pulling my body close to his.

"What are you doing here?" I questioned as I put a bit of distance between the two of us.

"Well, I was sleeping until you woke me up," he admitted his voice hoarse from sleep.

"I guess I just figured that you'd be up figuring out what to do about Moriarty. And I guess I thought that you wouldn't be sharing a bed with me," I fretted

"You act like we haven't shared a bed before Molly."

"I know, it's just everything is so confusing right now. And I'm not saying it confusing just for me, I know it's confusing for you too even if you don't want to admit it."

"Obviously, but I'm not going to let that get in the way of my sleep. This _is_ my bed you know," he explained reaching his hand over to my arm, his thumb rubbing circles.

"You're right. It's just so much has happened in the last few days I'm not sure I know which way is up any longer."

"Just come over here and try to get a little more rest," he demanded.

"Thank you for everything Sherlock," I whispered before scooting over and brushing a kiss across his lips.

"You're going to have to stop kissing me if we're going to get any more sleep," he advised before kissing me back.


End file.
